


Faith in the Tie

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: Banter, Christmas, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal always knows just what Peter needs, even when Peter doesn't want it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith in the Tie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Sholio! Thanks for all the awesome White Collar fic this year!
> 
> This is set sometime early in the series, but with Diana instead of Lauren. Just don't think too hard about it.

The 7th annual Toys for Tots FBI fundraiser was winding down by the time Peter finally made an appearance. He almost didn’t make it at all, having spent the afternoon buried under an avalanche of paperwork from the case they’d wrapped the day before. He and El were headed out that night to her sister’s place upstate, and he hadn’t wanted to take any of it with him.

By five o’clock the last dotted line was signed and the last form was filed, but by the time Peter got to the community center the Bureau rented out every year, the festivities were nearly over. The rec room was a disaster zone of wrapping paper and screaming children, and there was barely a sugar cookie left to be had. There were, however, bowls and bowls of multicolored frosting, with even more of it smeared across the folding tables covered in wax paper.

“There you are, boss,” Diana said, appearing out of nowhere. She was wearing a rather jaunty Santa Hat and the same terrible holiday sweater she’d worn the year before, courtesy, she’d said, of Christie’s grandmother. “Thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Me too,” Peter said, accepting the cup of overly sweet, artificially colored fruit punch she handed to him. “But it’s all done and I’m free for the next week. Thank God.” It had seemed like a close thing at one point, before they’d managed to scrape enough evidence together for a warrant to search their money launderer’s bolthole. For a day or two it’d looked like Peter and his team would be spending Christmas staking out a drafty warehouse.

“Excellent. Hey, good job sending Caffrey. He was our biggest hit this year.” Diana nodded toward the far end of the room. Peter followed her gaze and found Neal holding court at a cheap folding table, surrounded by a gaggle of little girls and a few little boys, too. He was chatting with them animatedly while painting a little girl’s face. Glancing around, Peter realized that a number of the kids were sporting Caffrey originals. And Diana, too, he realized; she had a small, sparkly, unusually detailed reindeer on her left cheek.

“I didn’t send him,” Peter said. “He wanted to come.” Diana raised her eyebrows and Peter shrugged. “He loves kids. It makes sense, they have about the same level of emotional maturity.”

Diana laughed. “True. Anyway, I have to run, Christie and I have a train to catch. Merry Christmas, boss.”

“Merry Christmas, Diana,” Peter said, accepting her hug. Once she’d gone, he turned back toward Caffrey. He watched as Caffrey held up a mirror so the little girl could see the Santa Claus he’d painted on her cheek. She grinned and stood up so the next kid, a short boy with glasses who reminded Peter rather strongly of Mozzie, could take her place.

Peter grinned to himself. Then he suppressed his smile and strode over. “Caffrey, what sort of terrible influence are you having on impressionable young minds?”

Neal looked up with a grin. “Peter! You made it. Diana thought she’d have to come dig you out from under all the paperwork. This is my friend Peter,” he added to the kids. “He’s an FBI agent.”

“Aren’t _you_ an FBI agent?” a kid with a Christmas cat on her forehead asked.

“No, he’s not,” Peter said, before Neal had the chance to lie. “But he does good work with us,” he conceded. Neal beamed. “Have you kids been enjoying the party?”

“Mr. Neal does the best face paints ever!” the kid with the freshly painted Santa Claus burst out, to a chorus of agreement. Peter grinned, while Neal, to his astonishment, colored faintly with - could that possibly be embarrassment?

“Well, I’ll leave him to it, then,” Peter said, and went to harass Jones. He’d drawn the short straw and had to play Santa this year.

Within the hour, the last kid had been collected and there was nothing left but the clean-up. Peter was stuffing wrapping paper into a trash bag when Neal appeared, munching a piece of gingerbread he’d probably broken off one of the abandoned houses. “That was fun,” he said. “You guys do this every year?”

“For the last seven,” Peter said. “You sure were popular. You could have a new career in children’s entertainment.”

“Mmm.” Neal swallowed his cookie. “Somehow I don’t think it would keep me in the lifestyle to which I am accustomed.”

“So few legal occupations do,” Peter agreed.

“When are you and El off?”

“Tonight. Back on the 27th. Er. Do you have plans?” Peter asked, trying not to sound guilty. He probably should have asked sooner, but it wasn’t as though Neal could come with them. He supposed that he and El could have stayed home, but he was a country boy at heart. Christmas just wasn’t the same in the city.

Neal shrugged. “Mozzie’ll come over. I think June’s family will be around, too. Don’t worry, I’ll be good.”

“You’d better. If I have to come back early because you pulled some hare-brained stunt, you’ll be on El’s ‘Naughty’ list.”

This time, Neal’s smile was tinged with wickedness. “Promise?” Peter straightened and glared, and Neal grinned. “Come on, Peter, you left yourself wide open!”

“Whatever, Caffrey. Anyway, try not to get in any trouble for the next four days, all right?”

“I always try not to get into trouble,” Neal said, eyes too wide and innocent to be believed. “I just don’t always succeed.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Are you going to help clean up or you just going to stand there being a smartass?”

“Actually, I was _going_ to give you your Christmas present, but if you’re going to be that way about it -”

“Wait,” Peter blinked. “You got me a Christmas present?” He frowned. “Is it legal?”

“Peter.” Neal placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Yes, it’s legal. Hang on.” He vanished toward back room, leaving Peter to stuff more wrapping paper into his trash bag. Diana’d had the right idea, he thought: show up early enough for the festivities, leave early enough not to get stuck with the clean-up.

Neal returned within a couple of minutes carrying a long, thin box crisply wrapped in gold paper and tied with an elegant red bow. It looked, in a word, expensive. Peter tried not to frown, even as he suspected that he wouldn’t particularly like whatever he might find inside. Neal looked like a kid giving his dad something he’d made in shop class as he handed it to him, almost bouncing on his heels as he watched Peter unwrap it.

It was a tie. Dark blue, silk, probably hand-dyed with threads of green woven through it. It looked every bit as expensive as Peter had feared, but it was also really, quite . . . beautiful.

“Do you like it?” Neal asked. “It’s your new lucky tie!”

Peter looked up. “What? Neal, you can’t just declare this my new lucky tie!”

“Oh yes,” Neal said, “I can.”

“A lucky tie has to be _lucky_.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “A lucky tie isn’t any more lucky than any other tie. You just believe it is. So believe that this tie is lucky and it will be your lucky tie, and I can stop being distracted by the sheer God-awful ugliness that is your old lucky tie.”

Peter scowled. “El likes my lucky tie.”

“Peter, you married a woman of class and taste. She _hates_ your lucky tie. But she will like this one. And hey,” Neal added, in the tone of someone who’s just had a stroke of genius, “tell you what. I give you permission to take credit for it. Tell her you picked it out yourself.”

Peter sighed. “I’m not going to lie to my wife about something as stupid as a tie, Caffrey.” Though he admitted the idea did have appeal. It was the sort of thing that would surprise and impress El. “I’ll think about it,” he conceded at last. “And thanks. It’s . . . really nice.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”

“Peter,” Neal said, in a suddenly very serious voice. Peter glanced up and caught him looking back at him, and for once he didn’t think the seriousness was a con. “In the last year, you’ve given me everything.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He stared - probably pretty stupidly - and after a moment Neal shrugged. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “Give my best to El, okay?”

“I will,” Peter managed after only one false start. Neal started to turn away. “Hey, Neal?” He turned back, eyebrows raised. “El wants to do Christmas dinner at home on the 28th. Her sister never gets the roast right and - well, it doesn’t matter. Want to join us?”

Neal grinned. “Yeah, Peter. Thanks. Have a good night. And have faith in the tie!”

Peter rolled his eyes. He watched Neal retrieve his coat from the back and wave good-bye to Jones. He gave Peter one last wave and then he was gone.

Peter glanced down at the tie in his hand. _Who the hell knows?_ he thought. Maybe it’d be luckier than he ever expected.

 _Fin._


End file.
